


To the end

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 11:25:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8622784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: For @leiascully's xfwritingchallenge: thanks





	

A single tear bloomed in her eye and she let it track down her cheek. “Mulder, I don’t know what to say.”

The day had started out as usual. He hadn’t remembered. Of course. What was it he once told her? That he only ever remembered birthdays once every four years. She’d be grateful these days to only be reminded of her advancing years that infrequently. She let her memory unfurl back to that case, that keychain, that poor agent. He’d had a crush on her, she recalled. Poor young man, blushing and stuttering and grinning. She shook the memory away and looked down at the book she was trying to read.  


Her eyes ached with gritty fatigue. Sleep was an old friend who hadn’t visited for a while. Nightmares had been a constant companion for a long time, for her and for Mulder. For her, a broad but bright white terror overlaid with total loss of control. For him, horrifically detailed, compounded by losing everything. They shared each one eventually, finding some kind of peace in the telling. And more recently, while the hard edges of fear from their previous nightmares had blurred, they were both suffering a new kind of night terror. One they couldn’t speak of, but one that bound them more intimately than ever.  


Their life journey had always been intimate. More so than many married couples. Their shared path was strewn with actions that spoke of deep, unyielding love. Of course, she wouldn’t change a thing. She’d told him that once. And despite the loss, the heartbreak, the fear, she knew their extraordinary journey was fated to be made together to the end. Over the years, they’d been separated by their own decisions, by the intervention of others, by jealousy, by circumstance and by fear. Always they were reunited.  


“I don’t know if I want to do this alone. I don’t even know if I can.”  
He told her that once. She didn’t remember. She was frozen on the ice, desperate for him not to lapse into unconsciousness again, and she asked him to tell her a story. It was a fantastic tale, of two opposites forced together, a skeptic and a believer. There were lofty ideals of trust and truth; a hefty dose of danger, paranoia and conspiracy. The way he told it, head heavy in her lap, his breathy voice, his eyes fluttering open every so often, was devastatingly romantic. And when he got to that hallway speech, his eidetic memory allowed a word for word re-run.  


Even now with a lifetime behind them, he could remember the minute details that turned a moment from mundane to graphic. When Skinner had died, she stood with Mulder at the wake and he regaled her with stories of cases long-forgotten. He particularly seemed to enjoy the telling of the one where he’d shot Skinner in his office. They were under the influence of a hallucinogen and Skinner melted away in yellow goo.  
“The colour of buttercups, Scully. I’ll never forget that colour.”

He shifted to turn to her. His face was lined and grey. His hair white, like hers. But still so handsome.  
“This will be the last time we celebrate your birthday together, Scully.” His voice, always raspy, was reed-thin now.  
“Don’t say that.” She laid her head across his chest.  
He weaved his shaking fingers through her hair. “You know it’s true. Your science tells us so.”  
Hot tears rushed from her eyes as she lay there, holding his gift to her. “I hate my science more than my God, at the moment.”  
Chuffing gently, he pushed her head up. “Never give up on a miracle. Is that what you’d have me believe? I may have been gullible once, but not any more.”  
She sat up, shaking her head and brushing away the tears. “You told me that once, and we did get our miracle.”  
“And you only get one per life, is that the way it works? If so, then I’d say that ours is the best miracle ever.”  
“He is. But you’re a pretty close second, Mulder.”  
He took her hand and squeezed, a rattly breath leaching from his mouth. “How close?”  
She pulled her hand from his grasp and measured a fraction between her thumb and forefinger. “Almost too close to call.”  


They clasped fingers and she looked at his eyes, still burning bright, despite his illness. Holding his gaze like that calmed her. It was like he was pouring his sense of the rational, the inevitability, his dignity into her soul. It was his way of nourishing her, preparing her for life without him.  
“Let’s see if it fits.” He nodded to the blue velvet box, still sitting on the bedside table. “William helped me with the size.”  
She took out the gold ring, a simple band and held it up. The etched words caught in the light. My constant, my touchstone. “But he didn’t help you with the words, did he?”  
Mulder blinked. “I spent so long searching for the damned truth, but it took me to the end to realize those words were the truest truth. Happy birthday, Scully. Now and forever.”  
She leant over to kiss him. “Thanks.”


End file.
